


Reality

by LilacMist



Series: jeritza/byleth oneshots we die like men [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, and then more hurt, divine pulse loop angst, i tried to write something that ended cute but my brain said "what if it was sad"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 20:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacMist/pseuds/LilacMist
Summary: It's a scene he has seen played out so many times before, he doesn't bother counting, anymore.He can tell when she spots him, because her eyes change. Sometimes it's fiery anger, and other times it's resolve. This time, all he sees is pity. It's infuriating. Every clash prior has ended in impasse, with neither able to overcome the other. How prideful can she be, to assume her victory is assured? He will cut her down.





	Reality

**Author's Note:**

> listen,,,,,,, the idea started out happy, but then it gradually morphed into whatever this is so big yikes i'm Sorry for the Sad  
no betas we die like men

It's a scene he has seen played out so many times before, he doesn't bother counting, anymore. Corpses of soldiers litter the battlefield. When another approaches, attempting to slay him from behind, it only takes one clean swing of his scythe to silence her forever. He is the reaper. Killing is his craft. One more body on top of a mountain slain means nothing to him.

A rally cry sounds from behind him. Another wave of fighters pours in, attempting to strike him down. Foolish, all of them. No one holds a candle to him. He is the darkness that consumes all light--all life.

Her green, iridescent hair reflects the sun's rays. It's what he sees first as she leads the charge. She is nothing short of majestic, with her cape billowing in the wind behind her and her crown glittering in the evening light. If he were pious (or perhaps it would be blasphemous), he might say she is a goddess of war, but he knows that underneath her regal exterior lives an Ashen Demon with the potential to slaughter anyone in this battle, on either side.

Even him.

He can tell when she spots him, because her eyes change. Sometimes it's fiery anger, and other times it's resolve. This time, all he sees is pity. It's infuriating. Every clash prior has ended in impasse, with neither able to overcome the other. How prideful can she be, to assume her victory is assured? He will cut her down.

She runs ahead of her troops and into the open field. He waits for her. Her face, now silhouetted by the setting sun, is unreadable, but he sees the power in her stance, the purpose she prides in, the burdens weighing on her shoulders. To Fódlan, she is their hope.

Ironically, to him, she is the same.

The woman carrying an entire country on her back, now framed against the crimson evening sky as if she were a saint immortalized in a painting, is the only one who can oppose him. Her power against his. Her sword against his scythe. Her light against his darkness. He will either end her life, or she will end his.

He never knows which direction the scene will take.

This time, the sun ducks behind the horizon. Light is gone. Darkness reigns.

It only takes one swing. He _knew_ it would only take one swing--one strike to decide their fates.

She falls, like the worthless soldiers before her.

The gaze that bore into him as she fell--it was not prideful pity, but rather, sympathy and mercy.

She had given herself up.

He's looking at himself, now, like he has lost control of his body. Or perhaps, he has finally lost his soul, leaving behind the monster he has become. He doesn't know. The Death Knight abandons her corpse, and all he can do is watch from afar.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

He should feel fulfilled, but he feels empty, hollow, a husk of himself. What will he live for, now? What purpose does his life serve when his only equal gave up her life so she would not have to take his?

What will he do without her?

The loneliness. The darkness. It consumes him. He can't see anything, anymore. He's being swallowed up, and he can't breathe. He's alone, and there's nothing, and he _can't breathe._ Is this how it ends? Or is he doomed to live like this? Could this pitiful existence even be called life? His vision is blurring, or is it? It's so dark, so empty, that he can't tell, and he _still can't breathe._ He can't see, he can't move, he can't think, and when he tries to speak, nothing comes out. There's nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, except _whatever just wrapped around his arm._

Jeritza's eyes shoot open, and he practically leaps forward, chest heaving and eyes struggling to focus on what's in front of him. Everything is...soft. And warm. And there is still something on his arm.

"You were having a nightmare," her voice softly breaks through the cool, night air. "Everything is fine. I'm right here with you, and I'm not leaving you."

He slowly turns his head, and there beside him, Byleth's eyes have the same sympathetic look they did in his dream. She runs her hand up and down his arm until his breathing steadies, and he leans over, carefully pulling her body against his. She's real, she's _alive_, and she's with him. Yes. This is real.

"I'm right here," she reiterates quietly, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her head on his chest. "I'm not leaving you."

She waits until his breathing calms even more, until she is sure he is asleep again, before whispering,

"Not again."

***

It was over in one strike. She killed him. Mercedes is right beside him, holding his hand and sobbing. It's her fault. She killed him.

She begins again. This time, she won't. She can't. She can't bear to see him like that again. She pleads with her eyes, but this time, he kills her. One strike.

***

She doesn't know how many times she's had to kill him, or how many times he has killed her. He has just as many telling scars as she. Byleth buries her nose in Jeritza's chest and tries not to think about it.

Whatever happened, for however long, it's over now.

But the visions...

She doesn't think they'll ever stop.

So she holds him all the more tightly, reminding herself that this is what's real.

**Author's Note:**

> :'))))


End file.
